Suede Elbow Patches
by Little Red1
Summary: In which the title has nothing to do with the story, Ron goes a little bit crazy, Draco is a human being, Dumbledore wears a fuchsia silk robe...and that's not all. An adventure of sorts and possibly a prelude to slash.
1. In which- Ron Talks to Strangers

Title: Suede Elbow Patches  
Author: Chloe, pen name- Atalanta de Lioncourt  
  
Disclaimer: Sadly, Ron and Draco and basically the rest of the HP world belong to J.K. "I'm a goddess" Rowling, Raincoat Books, Scholastic Books, and Bloomsbury Books. I'm pretty sure Warner Brothers has a leg in there as well. Anyway, let it be known that this is a purely not-for-profit little story and written for my own enjoyment. Believe me, if I owned them...  
  
Thank you: To Lauren (or Remus, Louis, Ken, BJ, etc.) Thank you for your presence, inspiration and that whole "built-in-beta" thing. You're my muse. Thank you to Ri who thinks Ron is mildly IC and to Jori who read this and liked Draco. I also have to apologize and thank all the people I forced this on before I got the nerve to post it. Gracias.   
  
Warning: This may or may not become slash. I know that Ron/Draco romance is very much out of the question when confined within the wall of IC-ness. Basically, it was raining one night and I began to write; the following is what came out. As I continue to write we shall see what path Ron and Draco choose to lead me on. Warnings will change as the plot moves.   
  
Rating: PG-13, but only for mild language. So far ^_~  
  
----------------------  
  
It was raining. The lovely insistent kind of rain that falls down in pre-established puddles and tries to down you should you be so unlucky to get caught in it. It streamed down the windows in droplets the size of his pinky nail. Ron pressed his nose to the cold glass, breathed a light covering of condensation, then pulled back to scrawl his name in it. Backwards of course, so the owls could read it. He blew a strand of red hair out of his eyes, puffing out his cheeks in boredom. This was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad way to spend his summer. Cooped up here in his attic bedroom while it seemed Mother Nature was doing her best to rain all things Weasley off the face of English soil.  
  
It had been raining for almost a week now. Days and days of endless cold rain pouring over the Burrow, drowning the garden and even driving the garden gnomes to higher ground-- cowardly little gits, couldn't handle a bit of rain. Ron rolled his eyes remembering how they had all fled one day, up to their miserable little waists in water and ran out into the meadow behind the yard. Even Pig was becoming restless; with only the attic to soar around, the owl had no place to work off all its hyper energy.  
  
Ron smacked his head lightly against the window. "Bored, bored, bored," he muttered, "bloody bored." It wasn't like he could write to Harry; Dumbledore had told them to keep contact to a minimum unless it was absolutely necessary. Dumbledore said letters were too easy to be tracked and that their best bet at the moment was to draw as little attention to Harry's summer location as possible. He was sorely tempted to write to him anyway, because being piss-poor bored was reason enough as any to put his friend in mortal danger.   
  
Ron sneered at his reflection in the window, what a ridiculous thought. It was, he had to admit, miserably unfair that Ginny had made school chums who lived reasonably close to the Burrow and that the Twins would always have each other for company. Typical that his best friends were probably the most unreachable best friends a person could have. One "across the pond" doing some Salem summer exchange program that Professor McGonagall had found for her, the other quite possibly the most closely guarded boy in Britain beside the Queen's own grandchildren. Pity Ron got stuck all by himself, miserable and lonely with only the over-excitable Pig to keep him company-who was, as usual beginning to wear his nerves very, very thin.   
  
Even a disgustingly large part of him was beginning to miss Malfoy, because then he'd have someone to take his anger out on. Stupid prat, probably off having a wonderful time with all his Death Eater friends; Ron could just picture them torturing small puppies or something. He shuddered at the thought.   
  
"No use staying up here, I guess." Ron spoke in the general direction of Pig's perch, who let out an excited chirp at the sound of his voice. "Don't get your hopes up; I'm not letting you out. The wind is way too strong." Ron smirked, an image of little owl flying haphazardly through the pouring rain, wings flapping helplessly flew through his head. When had he become so sadistic? He had to get out of this attic; it was beginning to affect his mental health.   
  
Ron stood, stretched his arms high above his head and let his fingers lay flat against the low ceiling; he cracked his neck. He'd been sitting by the window for too long; his nose was freezing. Stretching just a bit more, he walked over to his dresser where Pig's perch sat, his head almost scraping the sloping ceiling. Giving Pig's head a gentle scratch, Ron received a playful nip on the fingers from his tiny beak. "I'll bring you back a mouse or something." He said, smiling when the owl gave an appreciative chirp. He was about to exit the room when there was a tap at his window.   
  
Ron whirled around, and quirked an eyebrow at Pig, who hooted a little 'who knows' hoot. Hmm. He pursed his lips and headed back toward the window. Peering out into the yard, Ron could barely make out the shape of what had to be a very damp person, through the sheets of falling rain. The unidentified person pulled back their arm in preparation to hurl another stone- presumably to get his attention -and Ron opened the window. The little rock hit him square in the forehead. He felt rather dazed. Nonetheless, Ron stuck his head out the window anyway, cold rain cooling the back of his neck and clearing the slight fog that had settled over his brain.   
  
"Who's down there?" He called, craning his neck to get a better look at his pebble-hurling trespasser. The soaking wet person, dressed in drenched traveling robes (that were probably very stylish when dry), put a hand over his eyes like a shield and stared up at Ron, not answering. Ron stared back down. "You're very wet," he called.   
  
"Yes. I know," said the stranger in a prim, frazzled voice.   
  
"Er, do I know you?" Asked Ron.   
  
"Yes," said the person huffily, a waterlogged broomstick trying to shake itself dry on the ground next to him. Ron scratched his scalp; there was water streaming down his face now.   
  
"Look, do you think you can fly up to the window? There are wards on the front door that I can't take down," Ron said.  
  
The person nodded, and picked up his broom; he gave it a final shake and hopped onto the handle. The broom fought its way up through the pouring rain. Ron pulled the widow all the ways open so that his mysterious visitor could fit through. He stepped back and waited. A figure tumbled through the window, broomstick held tightly in hand, obviously plucked from the air at the last possible second.  
  
Ron gasped when the black hood of the traveling cloak fell back to reveal white-blond hair. Malfoy. "Oh shit," he muttered.   
  
To be continued....  
  
I live on feedback; it is the very means by which I survive. Please, send me some. Email or otherwise. SuckerIove@aol.com, or reviewing on FF.net is lovely as well. The more reviews the more I want to write! I [heart] you all. 


	2. In which- Muggles Want Tea

Rated: PG-13, still not slash.   
Author's Note: See previous chapter for warnings and Disclaimer.   
  
------------------  
  
Ron's mouth dropped open and he stared openly at the Slytherin getting his carpet soaking wet.  
  
"That's no way to greet a guest, Weasley." Draco smirked. "Oh wait, you can't afford manners; can you?"   
  
He stood, rolled his shoulders and looked around Ron's room. "So. this where you sleep?" Draco was obviously taking this much better than Ron was, probably because Draco had made the conscience decision to be the unwanted guest, not the unhappy host.   
  
Ron's ears turned red, he clenched his fists. "Malfoy, I'm only going to say this once: why are you in my room?"   
  
Draco turned a stunning smile on him; Ron thought he would pass out from the voltage. "You let me in, remember?" He went back to inspecting Ron's room, scratching Pig on the head; he picked up a few of his Martin the Muggle comics. If it was possible, Ron's ears got even redder.   
  
"I'm going to give you to the count of ten, and then," he said slowly, "you're going to either explain, or leave."   
  
"Look Weasley, I don't see why it's such a big deal that I'm here. Potter comes here all the time."   
  
Ron thought he might have seen the hint leer. "You are not Harry," he said.   
  
"That, I think, is evident," said Draco.   
  
"Arggggghhhhhh!!" Ron dropped his face into his hands. "How can I make this simple for you? Don't you find it a little strange that you've just shown up at my home, and for no apparent reason except for bothering me?"   
  
Draco shrugged. "No," he said simply.  
  
"Okay," Ron tried again. "Imagine you're having tea with your Mum and Dad in the living room, or whatever you rich people have…."  
  
"Parlor," Draco interrupted.  
  
"Whatever," Ron ignored him. "So you're sitting there having a nice tea when out of no where a gaggle of Death Eaters come waltzing in and demands have tea with you." He looked at Draco expectantly, waiting for realization to dawn. It didn't, the boy just looked confused.   
  
"I don't get it," Draco said.   
  
"No. You wouldn't," Ron said hurriedly, brain conjuring a sudden image of Draco serving tea to a room of cowl headed men. "How about this, you're having tea…."  
  
"What kind of tea?" Draco asked.   
  
Ron curled his lip, "Does it matter?" He asked.   
  
"Yes, it'll help me to get a proper image in my head," Draco sat down on the floor.   
  
"Okay. Fine. You're drinking English breakfast. Now anyway, you're all…." He tried to continue.   
  
"I only drink Prince of Whales," Draco said lazily from the floor; he was taking off his boots.   
  
"Can I just finish?"   
  
"Who's stopping you? You're on a role here Weasley." Draco gave him a saccharine sweet smile.   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "So. You're drinking Prince of Whales tea in the parlor with your parents when suddenly a herd of muggles comes traipsing into the room and idemands/i to have tea with you," he paused for effect. "They don't even ask nicely," he added vehemently.   
Draco looked horrified. "I still don't understand what I have to do with Muggles that what tea."   
  
Ron shrugged. "It was shitty example." He looked over at Draco, who had since removed his traveling cloak and was now finger combing his wind mussed blond hair. It looked an awful lot like Draco was planning to stay awhile, or until Ron killed him. He sighed and said, "Look, just why are you here, and how can I get rid of you?"  
  
Draco pursed his lips and said simply, "My father's a madman."   
  
Ron balked. "What?" He said quirking one bright red eyebrow.   
  
Draco shrugged, "He's mad. I decided I needed to get away, you know, just fly off and such." He looked up and Ron and sneered, "Now, sod off will you? I'm on holiday."  
  
Ron was flabbergasted. "Yeah, you're on holiday in my bedroom you great git," he said angrily. "Humph!" And crossing his arms, Ron sat down on the edge of the bed. Draco was lazily inspecting his room now, running his hands over the Chudley Cannons posters that wallpapered the place; and Ron felt vaguely self-conscious.  
  
"They're my team too, you know," Draco said softly, staring at the poster of the Cannons seeker Ron had plastered above his dresser.   
  
Ron's nose wrinkled up a bit, picturing Draco flying happily through the air as the Cannons new seeker. "What?" He asked.   
  
Draco answered, "I said, they're my team as well." He poked the seeker with his index finger and the poster waved at him. And winked. Draco didn't blush.   
  
Ron swallowed down what might have been an exceptionally cruel comment, the world may never know.   
  
To be continued...  
  
::the bunnies whisper:: FEEDBACK! FEEDBACK!...  
Okay, perhaps they're not whispering. 


	3. In which- The World Doesn't Know Much

Hullo all-- Chapter 3!  
This one is a little random because I was in a funny mood when I wrote it.   
Enjoy! And Review!   
  
See First Chapter for Disclaimer.   
------------------  
  
  
Actually, at this precise moment in time there were lots of things the world didn't know. In fact, there were lots of things the world may never want to know. For instance, the world was utterly unaware that while Ron Weasley was trying his best to keep at arms length from the unwanted Slytherin in his bedroom; Professor Dumbledore was prancing around Hogwarts in a silk robe of bright fuchsia and greatly enjoying himself. The world also didn't know that Harry Potter was masturbating to pictures from Dudley's old girlie magazines and not finding them very useful or that Remus Lupin and Sirius Black-outcasts of the wizarding world, were at this very moment having mind blowing...  
discussions about Quidditch.  
  
Of course, not all the things the world didn't know were of a sexual nature. Hermione Granger was trying to figure out if she could turn her mother into a bat because they'd had a spat over her new teeth, and Neville Longbottem was wearing his Grandmother's hat and doing impressions of Snape for the little children he babysat for over the summer. Not to mention Dean Tomas and Seamus Finnigan who were getting thoroughly sloshed and singing highly off key in some wonky London pub they really shouldn't be in. Lastly, there was Draco who was now perched on the window sill in Ron's room, humming to himself while he watched the rain. Sadly, he was acting wholly civil, much to Ron's chagrin. Having to treat Malfoy like a human being and not an annoying insect was quite a wearing task.   
  
Ron bit his lip, "Would you, er, maybe like a cup of tea?" He implored.  
  
Draco glanced away from the window, and his lips curled into a slight sneer. "Decided to be civil, Weasley?"   
  
"I think mum keeps Prince of Whales," he ground out, keeping his fists tightly closed so not to dive toward Draco and shove him out the closed glass window.   
  
Sounding truly relieved Draco said, "Okay. I'll have some," and stood up. He stretched, arms above his head much like Ron had after he'd been sitting by the window. Ron, however, took no notice of their similar actions.   
  
"You wait here, okay? Mum might be in the kitchen and I don't know how well she'll take to finding a Malfoy in her home." Ron started toward the door and then stopped. "Malfoy?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Do you take milk and sugar?" Ron asked.   
  
"Yes. But not too much milk." Draco answered, and Ron thought he might have seen the ghost of a real smile.   
  
"Malfoy," he said again.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"When I get back with the tea will you tell my why you're really here?"   
  
Draco seemed to work it over in his head; Ron caught a myriad of emotions dance across his usually placid face. "Okay," he resolved.   
  
Ron nodded and left the room. Draco sat down on the bed.   
  
Ron's room was okay, he thought. It didn't smell bad. It didn't have anything unidentifiable growing from the floor. It also wasn't covered it pictures of Potter, Draco thought laughingly. Although there was one photo of Potter, Weasley himself, and that Granger girl sitting on Ron's night stand. Draco picked it up. He stared at it and wondered who took it. It could have been anyone really; their location was purely unrecognizable, although it was definitely a wizarding photograph. From the picture Weasley scowled up at him until Granger put a calming hand on his arm, Potter just looked smug. Draco thought he might like to rip it up, but Weasley would inevitably notice. It was framed and everything.   
  
He sighed and leant back onto the bed. It was soft and smelled kind of nice. Maybe like soap and grass. Draco pressed his face lightly into the worn and patched duvet; mmmm, jasmine, he thought. Truth be told, Draco didn't even know himself why he was here. He wanted to think he was on some grand adventure. But it didn't truly matter where he went because his father would always come for him. He let out a sigh of discontent, it was a wonder Lucius Malfoy had apparated to the Burrow yet. Perhaps, Draco thought, it was only a matter of time. Time he would use to find a bit of peace, even if he meant he had to spend it with the depraved Ron Weasley and the rest of his sodding family.   
  
Draco sat up quickly when he heard the aforementioned coming up the stairs. He didn't fancy having the other boy catch him face down on his sheets. Re-arranging the blanket a bit he pulled his knees up to his chest and waited.   
  
To be continued...  
  
Argh! Draco is sooo hard to write. He keeps muttering strange things in my ear. Like: "Let me get up and dance! Or I want to...sing! Sing! Sing!" Bah, no more Monty Python for that boy. 


	4. In which- The Malfoys Don't Drown Relati...

A/N--  
Hullo All (all two of you, and even that's being optimistic),  
The power in my house just shut off so I'm writing this by torch and my laptop is running  
on battery. Ah, the lovely storms of April, they bring a tear to my eye and a song to my heart..Pfft! I really should work on my history paper but since we have no power...D  
  
Hope those who read are enjoying what's been going on so far. This is a pretty long chaper.  
Please let me know if it's totally inconceivable. Thank you ^^  
  
Chloe-- your faithful authoress. Remember! Feedback really lights my fire. Er. Yeah.   
  
  
  
Chapter Four  
-----------------------  
  
Ron opened the door with his foot, precariously balancing two cups of steaming tea and a package of biscuits. Draco had enough courtesy to get up and help him, Ron noted with slight pleasure. He handed one porcelain cup to Draco and then tossed the biscuits on the bed. Draco looked incredulous.   
  
  
"You're allowed to eat your room?" He asked.   
  
  
"Not really," Ron shrugged. "But mum is off in Diagon Alley doing summer shopping so I figured it can't hurt much." He pointed at the biscuits, "Thought you might be peckish."   
  
  
"Oh," Draco consented, and took a biscuit. He dipped it in his tea. "Don't you have, like, ten other siblings? I thought they might be around," he waved the biscuit around the room before taking a bite.   
  
  
Ron's forehead creased. "Well..." he began, "I don't have a bazillion brothers and sisters if that's what you were expecting...I have seven, including me."   
  
  
Draco whistled and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, "Wow, your parents must've..."  
  
  
"Don't even!" Ron snapped, cutting him off. "Say anything about that and I swear. I swear I'll do something really nasty," he scrunched his eyes closed banning any mental images that might try to crawl through his brain.   
  
  
Draco laughed. It was a tinkling sound, merry sound. Not at all like his usual cruel snicker. "Okay, God. Calm down," he said, then smiled, and tilted his head to one side. "I've a sister, you know," he spoke barley above a whisper.  
  
  
Ron's eyebrows flew up in shock. "You what?" He said, and leaned across the tea they'd spread out on the bed.   
  
  
"I have a sister," Draco said just as quietly.   
  
  
"How old is she is?"   
  
  
"Twelve," Draco answered two soft spots of pink appearing high on his pale white cheeks.   
  
  
Ron pursed his lips, "Shouldn't she be at Hogwarts?"   
  
  
"Yeah...she should," Draco took a sip of tea.   
  
  
"Then why isn't she?"   
  
  
"Weasley, are you daft? She's a squib," Draco sputtered.   
  
  
"Oh God," Ron's face contorted in to enormous amounts of pity. "I didn't know...I thought she might be at some other school. Like Durmstrang... Or-"   
  
  
Draco shook his head. "Don't pity me, Weasley. I don't need your pity. I don't even know why I told you that. I don't even know why I'm here!" Draco said miserably. He rubbed a hand over his face. It was getting late, the cloud ridden sky was already becoming a muddy black and his father still hadn't arrived. Suddenly, he looked up at Ron who was staring at him with an odd expression. "What is it?"   
  
  
Ron licked his lips looking for the right words, and then began. "I was wondering what your family does to squibs...." He trailed off.   
  
  
Draco looked disgusted. "We drown them in the quarry, can't mar the family name and all that."   
  
  
Ron gasped, scandalized.   
  
  
"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Draco exclaimed. "She goes to a muggle academy," he rolled his eyes and then added, "Malfoys stopped drowning their family members in the 18th century."   
  
  
Ron wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. Then the awkward silence began. They sat and the seconds moved slowly by. Draco absentmindedly sipped his tea and Ron was reminded of the fact that he was still home alone with Draco Malfoy in his bedroom. Where was his mother anyway? She had left for Diagon Alley early that morning and still hadn't returned home. Still, he thought, it wasn't all that unusual to be left to fend for himself the whole day. After all, Percy often took a room at the Leaky Cauldron when the work load at the ministry was unbearable and Ginny had spent most of the summer sleeping out.   
  
  
Ron looked down at his hands. They weren't bad hands, sort of large but nice in their own right, he figured. It was then that he realized how odd it was to be sitting here with Malfoy. Here they were on his bed on a rainy afternoon talking almost like they were old friends. Sure, when he showed up Ron was pretty certain he was either going to kill Malfoy or leaving him looking slightly deformed, but now....  
  
  
Something about Malfoy's admission about his sister had left Ron feeling vaguely like he owed the other boy the common curtsey of. Of a place to stay until the rain let up, or whatever. Of course, Ron quickly amended his thoughts, that didn't mean he had to be friendly to Malfoy. And it certainly didn't mean that things were suddenly going to become all duckies and bunnies between them. Oh no, he thought, Malfoy was still an insufferable git and Ron was slightly shocked that he, Malfoy and Malfoy's ego could all fit on the bed.   
  
  
Sighing, Ron was about to ask Draco about his real reasons for dumping himself unceremoniously in his room; when he heard the unmistakable clatter of his mother coming home from Diagon Alley via floo powder. He glanced at the door and then realizing that Draco hadn't said a word for a quite a while (which was saying something for Malfoy) turned to look at the other boy and nearly laughed out loud. Draco had fallen back against his few pillows and was now sleeping soundly; his mouth hanging open is a rather adorable manner that made Ron want to shut it. Malfoy's teacup sat forgotten on his nightstand.   
  
  
Ron closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand through his hair. In a few minutes his mother would call him and then she'd begin making dinner and expect him to join the family when it was ready. Thank meant leaving Malfoy alone in his room. He flinched at the thought the Draco stirred in his sleep. Ron was surprised at how peaceful he looked like this. All traces of the sneering, conniving boy that Ron knew disappeared while Draco slept. Hmm, Ron thought, he almost looks like someone worth caring about. No wonder his mother didn't want him at Durmstrang.  
  
  
"Ronnie...." He heard his mother's voice floating up the stairs.  
  
  
Ron cast a glance at Draco before quietly gathering up the teacups and biscuits. He was just about to leave the room when he settled them down on the floor and pulled out the extra blanket in the trunk at the end of his bed. Feeling like an over attentive mother, he threw the blanket over Draco and then begrudgingly tucked it in around him like he was putting a small child to bed. He picked up the food stuffs again and tossing a final look over his shoulder left the room feeling satisfied.  
  
  
----- TBC  
  
[::squeal:: OOoo! Power just came back! ] 


End file.
